


The Trouble with Templars

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Fighting, Drama, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, OR IS IT, Only One Bed Oh No What Do, Romance, Stakeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 20:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10344141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: When life imitates fiction, will Aveline get a happy ending?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/gifts).



> Dear Mytha:
> 
> Happy Wintersend! I'm so happy I got to write something for you. I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> You'll have to forgive some of the, er, _liberties_ I've taken with the layout and politics of Kirkwall. If anything in the layout seems too egregious, well, this _is_ set a number of years after DA:2, so maybe the city got a lot of new buildings... and streets... and got significantly reorganized? Whatever helps the suspension of disbelief. :)

Aveline was a practical woman, in many ways. Practicality, duty, work — these were what she was _good_ at. Bashing heads, ordering the City Guard, opposing criminality. The few times in her life she had reached for something more in her life had… never gone well. She would never be the glorious knight her father had wished for. She would never be the domestic helpmeet Wesley would have preferred. She would never be the romantic suitor she had tried to be for Donnic… no matter how much she had tried, no matter how much she wanted it.

Still, she was not unhappy with her life. In the years following the resolution of the Mage-Templar War, her focus was always on her duty, on the effectiveness of the City Guard under her command. She was good at her job, despite the ongoing instability and uncertainty of authority in Kirkwall. Her life may not have been thrilling, but it was… practical. It was enough.

And it wasn’t as though she had anything much to distract her. Most of the merry band of misfits who had adventured with Hawke had left Kirkwall following the destruction of the Chantry, returning to visit seldom if at all. Hawke herself was hardly a permanent fixture in her own estate, more often accompanying Merrill on her “research” travels than living in the mansion in Hightown. And almost immediately after the Chantry explosion, Varric had vanished, seemingly without a trace. By the time Aveline heard of his work with the re-formed Inquisition, he was already effectively managing his business in Kirkwall from afar. 

When Varric eventually saw fit to return to Kirkwall, Aveline found herself genuinely looking forward to seeing him again. As it happened, Hawke was in residence, doubtless summoned by Varric prior to his return. It wasn’t long before Hawke, Merrill in tow, began wheedling Aveline to join them at the Hanged Man at the end of her workday. She hadn’t been in the disreputable tavern since… well, since their little group had disbanded. But she found herself falling back into familiar conversations, almost as though no time had passed. It was unexpected, and unexpectedly pleasant.

One evening, Aveline arrived at the Hanged Man, later and grumpier than usual. Her mood was immediately apparent to Varric and Hawke, who were already at a table, mugs at hand.

“Rough evening, huh?” Hawke said sympathetically, pouring some ale into a mug and handing it to Aveline.

“A Guard Captain’s work is never done,” Varric remarked. “So many hoodlums, so little time.”

Aveline huffed in exasperation. “Would you believe I actually _wish_ we were overrun with hoodlums? The Guards are certainly capable of handling _that_.”

“So it’s worse than, ah, ‘hoodlums’?” Hawke asked.

Aveline stared glumly into her mug. “I don’t know,” she admitted. 

Varric cocked his head. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Aveline shook her head. “It’s… weird. We keep picking people up for bureaucratic violations — counterfeiting and forgery, fraud and false identity, things like that. But I can’t trace where it’s coming from, or what the point is. We’ve never caught anyone twice, they all seem to have their bail posted quickly, and then they just… disappear. And as far as we know, no one’s been robbed, no one seems to be making money off any grand schemes.” She took a sip of her ale, shuddered at the bitterness and scowled at Varric, then went on. “And there’s evidence, well, more like _hints_ , that there’s even more going on than we’re picking up. I feel like something bigger is happening, but I can’t point at what it might be. Like a spirit hovering just outside of your peripheral vision.” She sighed. “I can easily direct the Guards against your standard criminals, your thieves and your whores and the like. But this is much harder for me to deal with. It’s like trying to catch smoke on the wind, without even knowing where the fire is.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Hawke remarked. “After all, no one’s getting hurt, right?”

“That we know of,” Aveline replied darkly. 

“So there really isn’t anyone in the Guard to deal with the bureaucratic stuff? No one who can investigate beyond just bashing in criminals’ heads?’ Varric asked.

“There hasn’t been a Viscount since Dumar,” Aveline reminded him. “And, no disrespect to your man Bran, but… he’s not really suited to investigation. We don’t consult with him by mutual agreement. And without a strong Viscount to report to, we’re sort of operating without a head.”

“I don’t blame you at all for leaving Bran out of this,” Varric said, “believe me. Having him as Provisional Viscount is really not a good situation for _any_ of us. But he’s all we have, for now.” He took a long pull from his mug. “Based on what I’ve seen of the current crop of Kirkwall nobles, I’m not surprised they haven’t gotten around to appointing a new Viscount. That lot couldn’t agree to run out of a burning building.” He shook his head. “And the Kirkwall Templars…?”

“Have little or nothing to do with the Guard,” Aveline said. “They keep to themselves ever since… well. I’ve spoken with Knight-Commander Sammond perhaps twice.”

“Huh,” Varric said thoughtfully.

“I mean… that also sounds good. Right?” Hawke asked. “The Templars are minding their own business. Rightly so.” Aveline glanced at her — it was well known that Hawke trusted Templars about as far as she could throw them.

“Maybe,” Varric said. “You know I’m not going to complain too much about Templars keeping out of the way. But I think I understand what you’re saying,” he said to Aveline. “There’s been a few odd happenings in my circles. Nothing really obvious: a few new names appearing, a few old faces dropping quietly out of business, a couple more low-key fraud scandals than you’d normally expect.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Kirkwall is just starting to get back on its feet. The last thing it needs is more unrest. And if the Templars are keeping out of it, and if there’s no Viscount around… I think I’ll call in a favour. A _big_ favour. Bring in someone who can help get to the bottom of this.”

Varric didn’t elaborate, and Aveline didn’t press for more details. Whatever Varric had in mind probably had nothing to do with her, or the Guards, after all. The conversation moved on to other matters, the pitcher of ale gradually emptied, and they all retired to their beds.

Things went on as they had. Aveline continued to keep an eye on the bureaucratic crimes that the Guard encountered, but no new leads emerged to account for the overall pattern of offences. She focused on her duties, ensuring that the Guards were well-managed and as effective as possible. She occasionally went out in the evening with Varric, or joined Hawke and Merrill for dinner, and otherwise didn’t really socialize much, as usual. The Guard was the main focus of her life’s energy. Ever since her disastrous and misguided attempt at wooing Guardsman Donnic, Aveline was determined to avoid fraternizing with the Guards. This limited her social circle, of course, but that gave her more time to focus on her duties.

It was many weeks later when Aveline was summoned to an audience with Provisional Viscount Bran. Bemused, Aveline presented herself at the appointed hour. Unsurprisingly, Varric was also there, greeting her as though he and not Bran was running this meeting… which was entirely accurate, Aveline suspected. There was a stranger in the room with them, a woman in armour emblazoned with the all-seeing eye — a Seeker of Truth. Aveline glanced curiously at her. She had never met a Seeker before, not even during the worst of Kirkwall’s troubles. She hadn’t known whether there had even been many Seekers left, after the last few years.

Varric took it upon himself to make introductions. “Seeker, allow me to introduce to you Aveline Vallen, Captain of the Guard. Aveline, this is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.”

Aveline recognized the name, of course. Like probably everyone in southern Thedas, she had heard the stories of the Hero of Orlais, the Right Hand of Divines Justinia and Beatrix, the woman instrumental in re-forming the Inquisition. In another lifetime, Aveline might have been agog at meeting a living legend. But, having met Hawke, and known her before, during, and after her ascension to the dubious status of “living legend,” Aveline was rather less inclined to hero-worship.

Aveline’s job required that she read people quickly and accurately in emergent situations, and a brief once-over of Seeker Pentaghast told her two things: First, this was a strong and well-trained warrior, based on the musculature and posture that were evident even with armour, even standing still. Second, she was exceedingly unhappy about being there, her expression irate, her body language radiating discomfort. Despite this, though, she met Aveline’s gaze steadily.

Well, Aveline was none too pleased herself at being summoned to a meeting without knowing what it was about. She nodded at the Seeker, acknowledging the introduction, and received a nod in turn. Then, ignoring Bran, Aveline turned to Varric. “What is this all about?” she asked.

“You mentioned your suspicions about mysterious, underhanded stuff happening in Kirkwall,” Varric replied. “Forgeries, deceptions, clandestine meetings. You’re not the only one who wants to get to the bottom of it — it’s starting to affect how I conduct my business here, and I _really_ don’t like anyone interfering with that. It takes away valuable time at the Hanged Man.”

Seeker Pentaghast rolled her eyes at this, Aveline noted with a certain approval.

“We _are_ making progress,” Aveline said. “Of a sort. Just last week, we captured _two_ people who had already been captured for counterfeiting the month prior — this time they were transporting stolen goods… or, at least, we were sure they were stolen, but then the bill of goods turned up. But I’m sure it means they’re making mistakes, getting recaptured like that. And yesterday, I led some of the Guards into a known den of iniquity, and… well, somehow they must have been tipped off, the place was clear, but we did recover a ledger that had fallen behind some furniture. I’m sure it will give us information on all of this!”

“Oh?” asked Varric. “What’s in the ledger, then? Details about their operations, locations, plans?”

Aveline couldn’t suppress a snarl. “We don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s… mostly nonsense phrases, and symbols. I’m sure it’s in code. If we can just crack it… what?”

Varric was shaking his head. “Oh, now you have a cryptographer on the force?” he asked. “No? But you’ve got plenty of Guards with enough time on their hands to step away from patrols in order to study the ledger, work out their patterns? Or even to investigate this more deeply, not just fitting in the occasional sting operation in between attempts to stay on top of the usual theft, violence, and general law-breaking?”

Aveline glared at him. 

“Right,” Varric said reasonably, as though Aveline had agreed with him. “Well, you’re in luck. I just happen to have convinced an old colleague of mine to help you out, and she even has experience deciphering coded texts.” He gestured toward Seeker Pentaghast.

The Seeker turned to Aveline. “Varric asked me to come to Kirkwall and assist you in handling some suspicious activity,” she said neutrally. “And yes — I have decoded cryptographs, both on my own and while working with a colleague who was an expert in such things.” Aveline thought this likely referred to the Left Hand of the Divine, with whom Seeker Pentaghast would have worked many years ago. “I am willing to help you to find out this criminal activity that your Guards have failed to eradicate.”

Aveline bristled. “The Guards do an admirable job of keeping Kirkwall safe, especially spread as thin as they are.”

“If they have not been able to discover the source of these criminal activities, then they absolutely need aid of some kind… why are the Kirkwall Templars not involved in this?” the Seeker asked.

“Kirkwall’s recent history with the local Templars has been pretty contentious,” Varric said. “I’m under the impression that Knight-Commander Sammond wants his people to keep to themselves unless an abomination is actually imminent in the Circle.”

“Besides, we’re making progress on our own,” Aveline said, annoyed. “We don’t need the Templars, or the Seekers — reformed or not — stepping in and trying to do our jobs for us.”

“No one’s saying that,” Varric said.

“Although — ” Seeker Pentaghast began.

“No one is saying that,” Varric repeated emphatically. “Look, Aveline, I’ll level with you. Whatever is going on, it’s hurting my business, it’s making the nobility nervous as hell, it’s destabilizing Kirkwall’s free enterprise, and frankly, it’s making me really nervous. The sooner it’s resolved, the better. That’s all Cassandra is here for. To… help things get moving a bit faster.”

Aveline gave Varric a scornful look. “And if I choose not to work with an outsider on this?”

She was interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing. “As Provisional Viscount,” Bran said, “I have authority to insist that Seeker Cassandra be given command of this case.” Aveline gave the man a sharp look, and he met her eye, as haughty as he had ever been.

“Not really helping,” Varric muttered, then sighed. “Aveline. At least let her take a look at this ledger you’ve found. As a favour to me.”

After hesitating long enough to communicate her disapproval, Aveline grunted her assent. Letting her look at the ledger wasn’t a huge concession, after all. It would keep the Seeker out of the business of the Guards, and Maker knew, neither Aveline nor any of her lieutenants had been able to make heads nor tails of the code yet.

So it came that Aveline took Seeker Pentaghast to her office in the barracks, where the ledger was being kept under lock and key. It had been an awkward walk from Varric’s manor — neither woman was apparently inclined toward small talk, and Aveline was still irritated that the Seeker had been brought in to oversee the Guards’ work.

Aveline retrieved the ledger from her locked box and set it at a small table in her office. “There you are. Paper and writing things on that shelf there if you need them.”

“I’ll need to see all your reports on the recent activities,” Seeker Pentaghast said.

“What, every single one?” Aveline asked. “…Going back how far?”

“Back to the first instance of an unsolved suspicious or criminal activity that you think may be linked to all this,” the Seeker replied, casually, as though Aveline could summon the reports with a snap of her fingers.

Aveline was about to argue, then decided it wasn’t worth it. If she picked a fight with this woman, refused to work with her, then in all likelihood Bran (with Varric’s approval, no doubt) would order her to cooperate, and it would all be drawn out much longer than needed. “Very well,” Aveline said stiffly, moving to the cabinet where she kept her notes. She had always meant to organize them better, get some kind of system going… but it would be a monumental task. And she needed to consult her notes so rarely — most of the time, her job involved no casework. She was a Captain of the Guard, an enforcer of the law, not an investigator. As it was, the notes were at least in reverse chronological order, so it was just a matter of paging through the papers and extracting the relevant ones.

Aveline had barely gotten out half a dozen notes when the Seeker said, urgently, “Guard-Captain?”

She turned, torn between annoyance and concern. “Yes? What is it?”

“You were right,” the Seeker said grimly. “This _is_ written in code. I have seen it, or something very similar, before.”

Aveline’s irritation evaporated. “You have? Can you transcribe it?”

“I think so. It is a cypher I have encountered once before… or it is at least very similar. I wish I had my notes with me,” Seeker Pentaghast muttered. “Where did you find this ledger, again?”

“We discovered the hideout of a group of people who had been circulating forged papers,” Aveline replied. “Letters of credit and of introduction and the like.”

“I see,” the Seeker replied. “Was there anything otherwise… remarkable about these criminals?”

“What are you suggesting?”

Seeker Pentaghast shook her head. “Nothing… yet.” She helped herself to a copious supply of paper. “I will start working on this. And I will need to see all of those reports. Perhaps there is some pattern there that will shed some more light on why this particular cypher is being used.”

Aveline felt a spasm of aggravation at the Seeker’s cryptic words, but pushed down the urge to ask questions. She busied herself in her note cabinet once more, extracting the pertinent records, one by one.

It took what felt like an inordinate amount of time — the light was mostly gone from the room’s windows — but Aveline assembled all the reports. She arranged them into a neat pile, and set them on the corner of the desk where Seeker Pentaghast sat, focused intently on her task, resting her forehead on one hand as she hunched over the ledger and her scratch papers. Aveline noticed the streaks of steel-grey in her hair, clustered at her temples, woven through the braid that circled her head; the lines on he forehead. She wondered how old the Seeker was. The stories made her sound immortal, ageless, but this was obviously a mortal, middle-aged woman — still strong and vital, and as striking and as lovely as the tales told, but a flesh-and-blood woman nonetheless.

Aveline quietly retrieved a candle and holder from the sideboard, and lit it with the flint and steel she kept in her desk drawer. She set it on the table, out of the Seeker’s way, but providing light in the increasing gloom. Seeker Pentaghast glanced at the candle, then at Aveline. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Aveline nodded and then retreated to her desk, to prepare the Guard rotation schedule for the coming days. She lit a candle for herself, and got to work.

Aveline had worked out the schedule for the next ten days, when the scrape of chair legs on the floor distracted her. She glanced up as the Seeker dragged the chair across the floor to the other side of Aveline’s desk, then carefully arranged the ledger (now stuffed with bits of scratch paper) and Aveline’s reports on the desktop. Aveline raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

“Well,” Seeker Pentaghast said. “Varric mentioned that Knight-Commander Sammond, and his Templars, do not involve themselves in the authority of Kirkwall.” Although it had not sounded like a question, Aveline nodded, confused. The Seeker’s mouth was set in a grim line. “I see.” She glanced around the room. “Is your office secure? There is no chance anyone is listening to our conversation?”

Wordlessly, Aveline stood, bolted the door to the hallway, then returned to her seat. “The walls of the barracks building are a foot thick, made of stone,” she said, her tone equal parts suspicious and wondering. “No one will hear.” What could the Seeker have discovered that required such secrecy?

“I won’t dance around it: I believe the Kirkwall Templars are planning an uprising,” Seeker Pentaghast said ominously.

“What?” Aveline squawked, then lowered her voice at the Seeker’s sharp glance. “What are you _talking_ about?”

Seeker Pentaghast sighed. “This ledger you found, I think it contains plans for undermining the stability of Kirkwall. Using agents to cause chaos among Kirkwall’s more powerful civilians. Disrupting local trade, causing misfortunes and scandals for nobility, sewing seeds of discontent, so that the Templars can step in and establish their complete authority.”

“So you can read it?”

“Yes,” the Seeker replied. “Mostly.” She opened the ledger to one of her scratch papers, pointing to specific symbols. “I believe this ledger contains lists of individuals involved, meeting places, code phrases, transactions, outcomes…. This cypher has been used primarily by Templars, but it is very similar to those used by other Chantry agents… and to those used by the Seekers, when the Order wished to keep certain things secret,” she added, a note of bitterness in her voice. “See, this symbol here, the stylized thorned rose, refers to the Chantry… or sometimes, to simply _a_ chantry. Context is required. But here,” she said, pointing elsewhere on the page, “we see the thorned stem without the rose blossom… that means the Templar order, or perhaps an individual Templar… it can be modified by adjacent signs… at any rate,” she went on, impatient, “I do not have time now to explain how to break the code. Nor am I certain it would be wise to teach it to anyone outside Chantry ranks.”

“If it is necessary for me to understand in order to counter this plot,” Aveline said, pushing down her anger, “you can’t in good conscience withhold —”

“No,” Seeker Pentaghast said, “it is not necessary. If the Templars are indeed behind this it is a matter for the Seekers.” She carefully closed the ledger. “The Seeker order is much diminished. We no longer have direct authority over Templars — Divine Victoria is….” The Seeker’s lip curled in mild distaste. “Although she is herself a mage, she would be very strongly inclined to side with the Templars in whatever they are plotting. If we wish to disrupt this, we must do it without official Chantry support. The Seekers can help. Many former Templars are now sworn to us, at our hold in the Hunterhorn Mountains. I can summon them here by raven…. Maker willing, they can interrupt this plot before it gets any further.”

“Hold up,” Aveline said. “If they’re coming from the Hunterhorns… it could be weeks before they get here, at this time of year.”

“Then we will simply have to wait,” Cassandra said grimly.

Aveline shook her head. “What about the Guards? We could assemble a party of some of my best women and men, and arrest the conspirators, if you know where they’re meeting.”

“No,” the Seeker said. She flipped over several pages. “You see this pair of symbols? They recur throughout this document. The crossed knives mean _guard_ — it is safe to assume that refers to your Guards — and the… the hooked fish means _informer_.”

Aveline felt her stomach drop. “No,” she whispered.

“I cannot be entirely sure, but I am certain enough to insist that the other Guards not be alerted to this.”

Aveline shook her head. “But I know all of them… they’re all honourable women and men. They wouldn’t — ”

“Guard-Captain Aveline,” Seeker Pentaghast interrupted softly. “Believe me, I know what it means to be betrayed by trusted colleagues.” Her tone was unexpectedly sympathetic, and it obliterated Aveline’s desire to protest. She stared at the Seeker, stunned. “I hope that is not the case, here. But we must be sure before we allow anyone else to know of this.”

“I…” Aveline was at a loss for words. The idea that she might be harbouring criminals — conspirators! — in the Guards’ ranks was shocking.

“For now, I will investigate the conspiracy myself,” the Seeker said. She flipped over a few more pages. “This document lists meeting-places using descriptive symbols as well as the cypher code. If I can figure out where in Kirkwall they are, I can watch, and act, if needed.” She glanced up at Aveline. “I will need your help.”

“Yes, you will,” Aveline replied, straightening her back. The idea of being able to take direct action in this case was supremely _energizing_. Aveline felt more excited about this than she had about any part of her job, for many years. “I can certainly do this. Out of my uniform, with my hair covered, no one outside of the Guard is likely to recognize me.”

Seeker Pentaghast stared for a moment. “No, Guard-Captain, that’s not — not coming _with_ me, no. I merely need your help to figure out what these location symbols refer to, since I am not familiar with much of Kirkwall.”

Aveline felt a fierce rebellion boil up in her mind. “You’re already talking about bringing in the Seekers,” she said, scowling, “bypassing my authority, passing over the Guards and all the procedures we’ve worked hard to establish for the last few years. I understand wanting to keep the Guards out of this, for now, if there’s a chance one or more of them have been… compromised.” She drew herself up and glared at the Seeker. “But you are _not_ keeping me out of investigating a criminal enterprise in my own city!”

The Seeker’s eyes narrowed. “If a Templar conspiracy is indeed what is happening, then you do not have authority over this matter, _Guard-Captain,_ and you _certainly_ do not have any authority over _me_.”

Aveline took a slow breath, then stood, leaning on her knuckles on the desk. She stared icily at Seeker Pentaghast for a beat, then said, “I suppose I don’t. But if you need help navigating Kirkwall — if you need a City Guard that you can _trust_ — then you are going to have to cooperate with me. And my cooperation is contingent on my active participation.” She crossed her arms, standing at her full height.

Seeker Pentaghast also rose, rather more temperamentally, her chair scraping on the floor. Standing straight, she was a few inches shorter than Aveline, and seemed startled to not be able to loom over her. Aveline met the Seeker’s gaze, despite her expressive scowl.

Then Seeker Pentaghast closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. The tension left her stance all at once. She looked up, and said, “Yes. Of course. I apologize — I have been rather used to working independently, especially these last years…. I would welcome your cooperation, and your participation, Guard-Captain.” 

To Aveline’s astonishment, Seeker Pentaghast held out her hand. Bemused, she took it and gave one firm shake. Without relinquishing her grip, she said, “My full cooperation, and your promise of my _full_ participation in this, Seeker Pentaghast.”

The Seeker nodded. “Yes. Though if we are to work together on this, I would prefer to do away with formal titles.” Aveline felt her eyebrows rise. “That is… if you also prefer to…?”

Somewhat flustered, Aveline said, “No, no, that’s fine. So, I should call you….”

“Just ‘Cassandra,’ please.”

It was very odd to think of this woman, a Seeker of Truth, a living legend, just by her first name… not to mention that Aveline had only just _met_ her mere hours ago… and that she did not fully _approve_ of her coming to Kirkwall and trying to impose Seeker authority over a situation that the Guards should have been able to handle… but what else could Aveline do? If nothing else, it would be profoundly awkward to address this woman as “Cassandra” while insisting on being referred to herself by her rank.

“Well then… call me ‘Aveline.’”

The Seeker — _Cassandra_ — gave another small smile. Aveline was struck, again, by how vital and dashing she looked, and, startled, she returned the smile. Then a thought occurred to her. “Ach, the Guard rotation!” she exclaimed. “I’ll need to completely re-do it to remove myself from patrols.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, I should further examine the ledger, and your incident notes.”

Aveline sighed. “I’ll go to the mess hall and get us some food, then,” she said. “And more candles.”

It was a late night. Aveline managed to arrange the Guard rotation so that she was not in it for the next several days Hopefully, this would not attract much attention — as Guard-Captain, she was not always involved in active patrol. Cassandra was reasonably confident that she had extracted as much information from the ledger and Aveline’s notes as she was likely to get. Then, over a pot of very strong tea, they had attempted to work out the locations in Kirkwall that were referred to in the ledger, using a combination of the symbols’ implications, the locations where the Guards had previously uncovered shady dealings, several detailed maps, and Aveline’s familiarity with the city.

Finally, Cassandra proposed a strategy: “This inn, the Stricken Hart, is directly across the street from the Hanged Man,” she said, pointing to a marker on the map. She then flipped through the ledger. “It seems to be identified as a meeting place for an exchange of some sort… regardless, it seems likely that some of the people involved in this scheme will appear there sooner or later. I will speak to Varric about this — he is already aware that something is afoot, it will do no harm for him to know the details — and see if we can use the rooms he keeps at the Hanged Man could be used for surveillance.” Cassandra closed the ledger and began gathering the various papers they had been using. “As long as we do not draw attention to ourselves, we ought to be able to at least observe some of the perpetrators… there is always the possibility that all the plans and information in this ledger have been abandoned, after it was discovered to be missing, but it is the best hope we have of learning anything more. With any luck, we will be able to gather much more information on this plot, and who is involved, by the time the Seekers arrive. I will send for them by raven from Varric’s estate tomorrow at first light.”

Aveline merely grunted in response. She was, frankly, exhausted — strategizing felt like harder work than any midnight patrol. She still wasn’t inclined to merely await the Seekers’ arrival in Kirkwall, and had half a mind to argue that the Guards should be called in once they had a reasonable certainty who was behind all of this. But she was too tired to argue just then.

Cassandra dismissed Aveline’s offer to have a guard escort her to Varric’s estate on the grounds that the streets of Hightown were reasonably safe even at night. Besides, Aveline thought, closing the door to her private quarters in the barracks, it wasn’t as though the woman couldn’t look out for herself.

Aveline was to meet Cassandra at the Hanged Man the next day, dressed in civilian attire, armed but not conspicuously so. She felt rather unprotected, walking the streets of Lowtown without her accustomed armour and livery, but soon found she rather liked moving anonymously through the crowds. She had bound her hair back under a scarf, then thrown a hooded cloak over her head and shoulders. With the hood drawn up as it was, no one so much as gave her a second glance. 

At the Hanged Man, Aveline was not entirely surprised to see Varric seated with Cassandra when she entered. Sighing, Aveline pushed back her hood, made her way to the isolated corner table, and sat. Silently, she raised her eyebrows, first at Varric, then at Cassandra. The Seeker shrugged.

“Varric needed to make arrangements with the proprietor, that we are to be allowed use of his rooms, and this was best done in person,” she said, apparently unconcerned by Aveline’s glare. “He did not tell the proprietor what our purpose was, of course. Varric knows better than to speak to anyone else about our investigation.”

“My lips are sealed,” Varric confirmed. “Though I’ll be the first to admit, I’m pretty fucking terrified. I was here the last time the Templars started running roughshod over Kirkwall,” he added, his voice low. “It didn’t end well. For anyone.”

“Yes, I was there too, you know,” Aveline replied.

“Right. So you should know as well as I do, this has to be stopped,” Varric said, deadly serious. “I can’t believe you two are going to just… walk into this on your own!”

“Until the Seekers arrive,” Cassandra said, “we have little choice. The Guards have been compromised.” Aveline glared at the Seeker — she had been tossing and turning all night, despite her exhaustion, wondering who the traitor was. “If my choice is between doing nothing, or gathering information about the situation, I choose the latter.”

Varric snorted. “There was a time when you would have charged in, sword and shield in hand, no waiting, but no discreet ‘information gathering’ either. I swear, Seeker, you’re mellowing in your old age.”

“No. I am becoming wiser,” Cassandra replied with a touch of humour. “It is a thing that happens to some of us, later in life.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “Just… don’t do anything rash, all right? This situation is so volatile. The last thing Kirkwall needs is another breakdown in civil order.”

“You need not worry,” Cassandra said. “We are going to watch, that is all. Until the Seekers arrive, there is not much else to be done.”

Aveline still thought the Guards could be brought in, and much sooner than the Seekers would arrive. It galled her to think of an outside force swooping in to protect _her_ city… well, she would simply have to wait, and see how this plan went.

“I’ll stay out of your hair,” Varric was saying. “I’ll pop in from time to time, because I want to know how it’s going. And to make sure you two aren’t running up my tab. Feel free to order food or whatever else you need to keep going, but,” he said, wagging a finger at Cassandra, “I don’t want to hear about you getting Aveline drunk, and taking advantage of her state to get stories out of her!”

Cassandra swatted at his finger and scowled. “We are here to _work_ ,” she said. “And I am well aware that… this is not like in your novels, dwarf.”

Varric cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really? A battle-hardened warrior from away, and a valiant City Guardswoman, coming together to fight for justice in a corrupt city: it’s literally the entire plot of _Hard in Hightown: the Trouble With Templars._ ”

Cassandra pursed her lips and, to Aveline’s consternation, reddened slightly. “You are not helping.”

“I’m letting you use my rooms, aren’t I? Come on. Let’s get you both settled there.”

The rooms, at least, were well-suited to their needs. Varric had arranged for the small two-room suite to be assigned to him, indefinitely, so they had free use of it. The windows were not large, but they looked over the street and adjacent alley, and, crucially, into the windows of a great many of the upper rooms of the Stricken Hart. They would be able to see anyone entering or leaving the property, whether through the front door or one of the side entrances in the alley. They might also be able to see any activity in the inn’s meeting rooms whose windows were immediately across from Varric’s suite.

Cassandra was evidently prepared. She had brought a small spyglass in a leather case, which she set up on a table set before the window. Glancing through it and making a few adjustments, she said, “If anyone comes into those meeting rooms, we will be able to observe them quite closely.” She looked at Aveline. “Here,” she said, handing Aveline a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal wrapped in linen. “We will both make notes of anyone who enters or leaves the inn; with both of us doing so, we are unlikely to miss anything.”

“All right,” Aveline said, a little apprehensive. As a Guard, Aveline’s experience with observing criminals was overwhelmingly in the category of _catching-them-in-the-act_ , or perhaps hiding momentarily behind a corner in order to get the jump on them. What they were doing now was on another scale altogether. She settled herself in a chair by the second window so that she could see the front doors and the alleyway.

“If you two are set up, I’ll head out,” Varric said. “Send a runner if anything happens, will you?” He shook his head. “A Templar uprising,” he muttered. “ _Another_ one. Last damn thing this city needs. I really hope we can put an end to this soon.”

“As long as your man’s ravens are as swift as he claims, the Seekers will arrive soon enough,” Cassandra said.

Varric took his leave. Aveline looked down at the street, the open front doors of the Stricken Hart, the alleyway. After a while, her mind drifted. Watching the people go by while sitting here, unseen, was strangely… relaxing. She watched people come and go. She jotted down brief descriptions of anyone entering and leaving the inn: _scarlet jerkin/brown beard…tall skinny blond man, blue trousers…housemaid tossing refuse in alley…._. Cassandra, meanwhile, also watched the street, occasionally putting her eye to the spyglass despite the lack of movement in the meeting room across the way.

Eventually, Aveline became bored. No one of note had entered or left the inn; no one except the inn staff had entered or left more than once. She leaned her chin on her hand as she peered out the window, and sighed.

Cassandra glanced over at her. “If you would like to take a break,” she said, “you should feel free to do so. We do not need two pairs of eyes on the street at all times.”

“Hmm. It’s not as if there’s anything else to do in here,” Aveline said, glancing around.

“Surveillance is often quite dull,” Cassandra replied. Then she hesitated. “I do appreciate your help in this, Aveline,” she said. “I would not have been able to identify the Stricken Hart, nor any of the other locations without your input. And, well, it is much pleasanter to endure a stakeout with company than on one’s own. I am very glad you are here.”

Aveline glanced away from the street and caught the Seeker’s smile. Unthinkingly, she blinked several times and then offered her own tentative smile. Despite her earlier aggravation about having her authority usurped, Aveline had to admit that Cassandra really was rather impressive. Quite aside from her legend, even aside from the strength and grace that were evident in how she carried herself, it was evident that Cassandra was keenly intelligent and perceptive. No one else could have decoded the ledger. And… she was obviously trying to be considerate of Aveline. There was no harm in making civil conversation, Aveline thought.

“What Varric was saying earlier…” Aveline began. “About… well, plying me for stories.” She gave the other woman a conspiratorial smile. “Is there anything in particular you would like to know?”

Cassandra gave her a startled glance, as though trying to decide whether Aveline was mocking her. “Well,” she said eventually, “I have never entirely trusted Varric’s version of the events in Kirkwall. I suppose I am a little curious… what was the Champion really like in those days?”

“Hawke? Pretty much like she is now — too sincere and diplomatic for her own good,” Aveline replied. “I met Hawke quite some time before she met Varric, so I saw a slightly different side of her, especially at first….” Aveline went on to describe some of her early adventures with Hawke. Cassandra was an attentive listener, responding and asking questions even as she looked out the window and made notes of the comings-and-goings of the inn.

The Seeker seemed especially interested in Hawke’s romance with Merrill, even sighing and looking a little sentimental as Aveline recounted the tale. 

“I never would have expected it,” Aveline admitted. “I mean, Hawke just always seemed so… grounded. And Merrill is very sweet, but… what she does, with her magic is so hazardous, I would have expected Hawke to disavow everything Merrill does. And now, they work together, right in the thick of it, embracing all the risk together.”

“It sounds very romantic,” Cassandra said, her voice warm. “Lovers, finding a way to come together despite their differences….” She smiled. “They are both very fortunate.”

“Yes, I suppose they are,” Aveline said, a note of wistfulness creeping into her tone. She supposed romance was not something she was ever likely to have in her life again. Not that she missed it. Not really. Besides, after the debacle with Donnic, well, she couldn’t imagine making herself vulnerable like that ever again. 

By that time, the light was beginning to fade from the sky. Cassandra rose and stretched. “If you don’t mind watching alone for a few moments,” Cassandra said, “I will go fetch us some food.”

Aveline nodded, turning her attention to the street and alley. It had been very pleasant to talk with Cassandra, she thought. It had been so long since she had made any new acquaintances, and it was nice to speak with someone other than the Guards. And Cassandra, it seemed, in addition to being intelligent, also had a romantic streak, if her reaction to the story of Hawke and Merrill was any indication. It was gratifying to meet a woman who was a competent fighter who appreciated the gestures of romance… just as Aveline herself did. Just because Donnic had definitely _not_ appreciated them did not mean they were objectionable!

Movement in the window directly across the street caught Aveline’s eye. For the first time since they’d arrived, there were people in the meeting room. She saw a few candles had been lit against the growing gloom in the meeting room, and this made it relatively easy to see what was happening. Aveline leaned forward, watching. She could see several figures coming together, apparently speaking… then, something was exchanged between the two of them, though Aveline could not make out what — 

Wait! The spyglass! Aveline jumped to her feet and moved to look through the spyglass. It was a bit disorienting at first, and it took several seconds for Aveline to get it pointed into the meeting room. When it did, Aveline gasped. One of the people in the meeting room was known to Aveline: a guardswoman named Viola. As Aveline watched, dumbfounded, Viola handed a thick sheaf of folded papers to one of the other people who opened it, glanced at the contents, and said something to Viola, who looked worried.

Aveline heard the door open behind her. “I took the liberty of bringing you some ale, since — is something happening?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes,” Aveline managed to say. She heard a tray being set down on the table next to her. “One of my Guards is in the meeting room… she gave them something, and now… the one man in the green cloak is taking her by the arm and they’re leaving!” Aveline pulled back from the spyglass. She looked at Cassandra. “It may be nothing, but….”

“But it did not look like ‘nothing’ to you,” Cassandra said. “I am certain your instincts would not lead you astray in this.” She looked across the street, then put her eye to the spyglass. “They have already left. I am very glad you spotted them.” The Seeker sat at the table, then pulled together her note papers. “Tell me everything about this Guard, and everything about what you just saw in the meeting rooms.”

“We’re not going to — to go after them?” Aveline asked, incredulous.

“Certainly not,” Cassandra replied. “We are gathering information, nothing more. When the Seekers arrive, we will — Aveline!” Cassandra shouted as Aveline suddenly dashed toward the door. 

“They just left the inn!” she called over her shoulder. “I’m going after them!”

“No! Wait!”

Aveline heard Cassandra running after her. She did not stop or slow down. 

In the street, Aveline looked frantically around. Viola, and the man in the green cloak, were nowhere to be seen. Tugging her hood up over her head, she ran in the direction they had been heading in when they had left the Stricken Hart. 

After a moment, Aveline managed to spot the man’s green cloak several hundred yards ahead, despite the encroaching dark. He was moving quickly, his hand on Viola’s arm, guiding her through the sparsely-populated streets, until he ducked into an alley, Viola still in tow.

Aveline skidded into the alley. It was empty of people, though discarded barrels and other detritus lined the walls in between doorways. There were any number of spots they could have disappeared into. Biting back a curse, she strode forward cautiously.

Cassandra nearly ran into her a few seconds later, startling Aveline into yelling. Cassandra gripped Aveline’s wrist. “What in the Maker’s name are you _doing?_?” she hissed.

“Following my Guard,” Aveline said stubbornly. “If I can just talk to her, maybe we can find out what’s really going on, who’s really involved.” She tugged her wrist out of Cassandra’s grasp and continued stalking down the alley.

The Seeker followed her, grumbling. “I suppose I should have expected a Guard-Captain to be reckless.”

“What?” Aveline asked.

“It is from — oh, never mind,” Cassandra muttered. “If you have any sense at all, you will leave off this mad hunt. We need to get _information_ , not to _follow_ any of the conspirators!”

Aveline ignored her. The alley ended without opening onto another street. “They have to be here somewhere,” she muttered.

“Looking for someone?” came a voice from one of the shadowy doorways.

Aveline jumped back, nearly bowling over Cassandra, who had drawn a dagger at the stranger’s appearance.

The strange woman stepped forward, holding up her hands to show she was unarmed. Cassandra did not lower her weapon. “We were just leaving,” the Seeker ground out.

“We were looking for… comrades of mine,” Aveline said, earning a deadly glare from Cassandra. 

“Mmmm,” the strange woman said appraisingly. “Do they have names, these comrades?”

“I…” Aveline hesitated.

“The Black Bears,” Cassandra said quietly, stepping up behind Aveline.

The strange woman relaxed fractionally. “Ah, good. Come in,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing through the doorway. “It should be starting soon.”

Aveline, thoroughly confused, allowed Cassandra to push her through the doorway and into a passageway lit by torches. They could see a lighted room, and hear the murmur of other voices, at the end of the passage. Cassandra leaned in close to Aveline and whispered in her ear, “I recognize this location from the ledger. The code phrase ‘Black Bears’ was associated with it. I do not know what is happening, now, but we must be very, very careful.” She pulled back, but stayed quite close to Aveline, as they entered the room at the end of the passage.

Perhaps two dozen people were gathered, some sitting at tables, other standing. Numerous quiet conversations were taking place. Aveline spotted Viola, standing alone toward the far end of the room. Before she could decide what to do, though, the conversation in the room died down. Everyone, including Aveline and Cassandra, turned to where two men had just entered the room through another doorway.

Aveline had to suppress her shock when she recognized one of the men as Knight-Commander Sammond. The other man, the green-cloaked man who had accompanied Viola, was at his side.

The Knight-Commander spread his hands. “It is good to see so many of you here tonight,” he said. “Many of you have been working toward our goal for years, and many more of you are new to our cooperative. But we are united by our commitment to restoring true order in Kirkwall, to reclaiming the city as a Templar stronghold, safe from the threat of uncontrolled magic.” He paused. “For many of us, it has been a hard road — many of you have suffered, have been incarcerated or had your assets seized by the City Guards, have sacrificed your livelihoods for our cause. But tonight, my friends, we have some good news, from Sylvain.” He turned to the man in the green cloak, who stepped forward.

“We need no longer fear being hindered by the City Guard,” the man — Sylvain — said. “We have just today acquired the City Guard rotation schedule. With this knowledge, our operations will become much more efficient. Our goal of renewed Templar rule in Kirkwall is all the closer! We all owe my sister Viola our gratitude.” He gestured toward Viola, and the room broke into a smattering of applause.

Viola looked noticeably uncomfortable with the attention. Her eyes darted around the room. As the applause died down, Viola made eye contact with Aveline, and both women started. Before Aveline could react, Viola let out a yell that caused everyone in the room to look at her. Viola was staring at Aveline, which drew quite a bit of attention to Aveline as well. She tensed, and felt Cassandra shifting beside her.

“What is the matter?” Sammond asked urgently.

“It’s — it’s — it’s — the Captain!” Viola stuttered.

The entire room fell silent. Then, all at once, confused conversation erupted all around them. Aveline saw Sylvain move toward them, unsheathing a short sword as he moved.

“She is with me!” Cassandra shouted over the din, stepping in front of Aveline. Her voice was loud enough to cause the hubbub to die down a little, and the man in the green cloak stopped his advance. Sammond was looking at them curiously.

“I… I brought her here… tonight, to, to, to join the cause,” Cassandra went on.

“I have never seen you here before,” Sylvain said, brandishing his weapon.

“I — I have not been able to help, before now,” Cassandra said. “I… wanted to prove my, ah, my value.”

“Why would bringing the Guard-Captain here, to our meeting, be valuable?” Sammond asked, mildly. “Why would we value an enemy of our cause, here in our midst?”

“No!” Cassandra said, sounding more and more desperate. “She is not… she is on our side….”

Aveline glanced around at the assembled people. Most look utterly confused, and a few clearly had hands on weapons. There was no way they could successfully fight their way out. Well, if Cassandra could improvise, then so could she — it was their only hope.

“It’s true!” Aveline said. She glanced wildly at Viola, who stared back. Then she turned toward Sylvain, and Sammond behind him. “I, ah, have been convinced. I am on your side.”

“How could Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen — known for her stoic commitment to Kirkwall’s civilian government — have been convinced to join _our_ cause?” Sammond asked, his tone still light and apparently unconcerned.

Aveline cast desperately for an answer. What in the world could have believably convinced her to betray her loyalties as a Guard? She glanced at Cassandra, desperately meeting her eyes, almost begging the Seeker for an answer.

“Because she is my lover!” Cassandra blurted out, staring at Aveline, whose jaw dropped. Even Cassandra looked as though she were herself shocked at her outburst. Then she continued, “She is… my lover, and I… convinced her to come over to our side, out of love for me.” Cassandra stepped closer and put her arm around Aveline’s waist; Aveline almost stiffened, then, remembering the role she had been abruptly thrust into, tried to relax and lean into the Seeker.

Aveline glanced around. Most people still looked confused, or on high alert; they were not in the clear yet, not by a very long shot. She met Viola’s eyes. The guardswoman looked anxious, but not antagonistic. Viola said, haltingly, “I… I did see that woman go to the Captain’s rooms, the other day. And she never left, not that I saw.”

“Well, well,” Sylvain said, lowering but not sheathing his sword. He stepped toward them. “How _romantic_. Loyalty and devotion to one’s lover, above even one’s duty.” He looked at Cassandra. “I suppose I’m rather impressed. The Guard-Captain has a reputation for being stoic and committed to her duty. You must be very devoted to one another, to have overcome this.”

“Yes,” Cassandra ground out.

“How wonderful for you both,” Sammond said smoothly, “and a boon for us to have the Captain of the Guard on our side. This will, of course, necessitate an adjustment of our strategy. And so, my friends,” he said, addressing the room, “we will not, as we had planned, be giving orders tonight. You can all await instructions for our next meeting, via your usual channels, and we will reconvene as soon as possible. In the meantime, stay strong, remember our goal, and know that we will prevail! As for you,” he said, striding toward Aveline and Cassandra as the crowd around them began to drift toward the door to the alleyway passage. He gave them both an appraising look. “I’m sure you understand the situation… from my perspective. Such an about-face! It really does… challenge the imagination, shall we say. And until my imagination has been entirely settled, in this matter, I do _hope_ you understand that you will be staying with us.” He turned to Sylvain. “I imagine you have some suitable accommodation for our new friends?”

Sylvain and Viola stood together, and had apparently been speaking. Viola still had an air of anxiety about her, which her brother apparently did not share. He strode forward. “I’m sure we can make them comfortable,” Sylvain said. “We do not have lavish accommodations, of course… but surely, two such devoted lovers will not mind close quarters?” He gave a cold smile that was entirely devoid of humour. To Viola, he said, “I will contact you when we know what our next steps will be. Go.”

The woman gave a significant look to Aveline before ducking out down the passageway to the alley. Aveline looked after her, suppressing her feelings — sadness and anger at Viola’s apparent betrayal — before turning back to Sylvain and Sammond. Well. She and Cassandra were both well and deep in it now, she supposed. Nothing to do but try to keep up.

Aveline put her arm around Cassandra’s shoulders, and felt the other woman stiffen almost imperceptibly for a second, before relaxing and even leaning slightly into Aveline. “We certainly understand,” Aveline said, hoping her tone conveyed more confidence than she felt. “We can stay here until you are… satisfied that all is as it appears.”

Sylvain gave them a neutral look. “How magnanimous,” he said. “Very well. Sammond, if you’ll accompany us, to… help get our guests settled?”

“Of course,” Sammond said, laying his hand on the pommel of a dagger in his belt. “Lead the way, my friend.”

Sylvain gestured with his head that the women were to follow him. He led them through the smaller door the two men had entered through, up a staircase and into the upper rooms of the building. Finally, he stopped them in a long hallway. Finally sheathing his sword, he retrieved a keyring and unlocked a door. “Ladies, your room,” he said, gesturing to them to enter.

The room was small, containing only a narrow bed, and a small wooden table and chair in the corner. A high, barred window let in the light of the moon, which was the room’s only illumination. Knight-Commander Sammond came into the room from behind them. He said, “I’m sure you understand, we cannot allow you to remain armed. It would be much pleasanter if you would both simply hand over your weapons, rather than forcing us to inflict upon you the indignity of a body search….”

Meeting Sammond’s gaze, Cassandra plucked the dagger from her belt and handed it over to Sylvain. Aveline had two sturdy daggers, with which she was loathe to part, but what choice did she have?

Once the weapons were all in Sylvain’s arms, Sammond turned to Aveline. “I would truly like to believe you are an ally, Guard-Captain,” he said. “But it is late, and I am called elsewhere, for now. We will find out the truth soon enough, about you and your paramour. Sleep well,” he said, making to leave.

Sylvain followed him to the door, silently meeting the women’s eyes, then conspicuously locking the door behind him.

As soon as his footsteps faded, Aveline turned to Cassandra. “I’m sorry,” she began. “This is all my fault. I should not have recklessly followed — ”

Cassandra shook her head, holding up a hand. “Yes,” she said, sounding equal parts annoyed and resigned. “It is most certainly your fault, and you most certainly should _not_ have run after them.” She sighed. “There is no point in ruminating on that now, though.” She walked around the room, examining the walls and running her hands over the plaster. “At least we have confirmed that there is indeed a plot to return Kirkwall to the rule of the Templars, and we know many of the key players. Though that does us little good while we are trapped here.” She pressed her hands against the wooden table, testing it. Then she moved to sit on the side of the bed. “We are unarmed… but neither of us is helpless, even so. No one knows we are here… but we are not friendless. And I do not think our captors entirely believe our story… but following through with it is the best chance we have of making it out of here.”

Aveline, consternated, said, “What on earth possessed you to… to claim that we are….”

“That we are lovers?” Cassandra’s blush was visible even in the moonlight. “I… well… it is the plot of _Hard in Hightown: The Trouble With Templars._ ”

“I… you mean one of Varric’s books?”

“Yes.”

“The… the really ridiculous ones? With the ludicrous plots and the florid romances?”

“I believe that describes much of his writing in general, but… yes.” The Seeker made a disgusted noise. “The novel in question follows the story of a traveling warrior who arrives in the city, and assists a guard in defeating a violent Templar-backed cartel. At one point, when they have been discovered infiltrating a secret meeting, they — they claim to be lovers in order to divert suspicion.”

“…Does it work?”

“In the novel? Yes, of course, and the heroines escape and eventually win the day. Here, now, for us?” Cassandra shrugged. “We must hope so.” She leaned over and tugged off her boots. “I’m afraid we will have to be… reasonably convincing in our roles.”

“Reasonably… convincing?” Aveline felt her heart begin to thud in her chest. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Lovers would share a bed,” Cassandra said. “And, as there is nothing else for us to do until our captors return for us, I suggest that we at least try to rest, and try to look like a romantic couple while doing so.”

Aveline felt as though her heart was galloping around inside her ribs. “I think…” she said weakly. “I think that I will stay awake. In case they return and — attack us.”

“If they wanted to kill us, we would likely already be dead,” Cassandra pointed out. “They are trying to figure out exactly who we are and what we can be used for. I am reasonably sure that you are worth more to them as a living ally than as a slain enemy.” Cassandra made to lie down, tugging the thin quilt over herself. “Which is why we should maintain the pretence, for now.”

Aveline hesitated. Why was her heart pounding so? There was nothing inherently threatening about — about lying next to someone on a bed, for one night. Admittedly, Aveline had not shared a bed with anyone since… since Wesley. And she had not shared a bedroom with anyone since she had been promoted to a rank that got her out of the general barracks and into private quarters. Still, given how their night had gone thus far, lying next to Cassandra in a bed, both of them fully clothed, was… it should have been easy. The least of her problems. 

Cassandra was correct in her assessment of the situation, Aveline thought. They really _did_ need to pretend, at this point. It had to be done, regardless of Aveline’s sudden and overwhelming nervousness.

Aveline divested herself of her hooded cloak, then sat on the bed to pull off her own boots. She lay herself down, under the quilt, carefully not touching Cassandra, and tried to calm her breathing, which sounded very loud in the quiet room. 

She stared at a handful of stars visible between the bars in the high window, and tried to think of nothing. Every time her heart began to slow a little, Cassandra would give a soft sigh, or shift slightly, and Aveline would be all riled up once more. She held herself rigorously still. What was the _matter_ with her? She hadn’t been this addled and shaken up since — 

Since she had been trying to court Donnic.

With that thought, Aveline’s heart rushed again, and a flush of heat passed through her body like wildfire. She had known what she was feeling then, of course. She was _attracted_ to Donnic. Romantically. So why was she feeling _this_ , now?

…She supposed it was because of the pretence they now had to maintain. It had placed the idea of romance in Aveline’s mind, and between that and the urgency of their situation, Aveline’s heart was perhaps getting ahead of itself, getting confused.

After all, she was not _attracted_ to _Cassandra_. She had only known the Seeker for a handful of days! And Aveline had never been attracted to women. Well… aside from the odd infatuation. But that was normal, did not mean anything. It was understandable that Aveline might admire a woman’s physical form, appreciate it on a professional and aesthetic level… and certainly, Cassandra _was_ beautiful, strong and well-formed and graceful. Aveline had a sudden and entirely overwhelming impression of what Cassandra’s waist would feel like under her hands, what it would feel like to embrace her and hold her close….

She pushed that thought _violently_ down, barely managing to remain still. She fought to keep her breathing even. What was _wrong_ with her, entertaining such inappropriate fantasies?

Aveline stared, hard, at the stars and tried again to empty her mind of thoughts. But she kept reflecting on the day that had just passed. It had been extraordinarily ill-advised to run after Viola; Aveline had nearly spoiled everything with her rashness. And when Viola had recognized her at the conspirators’ meeting, Aveline had completely frozen, absolutely out of her element. Thank the Maker for Cassandra’s quick thinking. Aveline had never met a Seeker before; she wondered if they were all so clever and quick-thinking. And such good company — watching the Stricken Hart’s entrances and the street could had been tedious, but Aveline had truly enjoyed conversing with Cassandra. It was gratifying to talk about her adventures and life to someone who understood, who was interested and responsive. She remembered the small smile that an amusing or romantic story could cause to appear on Cassandra’s face. And then, without meaning to, Aveline thought about what it might feel like to cup Cassandra’s face in her hands, and press kisses to that lovely smile.

Suddenly hot once again, her heart pounding, Aveline screwed her eyes shut. Maker, it was going to be a long, long night.

Aveline did not sleep. She lay, still, and tried very hard to keep at bay the strange and intrusive thoughts that came to her, tried very hard to control her breathing and her heartbeat and… other, entirely inappropriate bodily reactions. Every time she came close to drifting off, another fantasy would slip into her mind, another amorous image… or Cassandra would shift, or make some small noise, and Aveline would be lost again.

She must have slept, though, for at some point, she became aware of daylight, despite her closed eyes. She was very warm, and comfortable, but… why was she still in her trousers and leather jerkin? And who — 

Aveline’s eyes snapped open, and she came very awake, very fast. She held herself perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe. She recalled, in a rush, everything that had happened yesterday, up to having to pretend she and Cassandra were lovers, to having to share a bed in this cell they were trapped in, to her own improper thoughts and fantasies.

And now, Aveline was lying snuggled into Cassandra’s side; the Seeker’s arm was under her and curled around her back. Aveline’s own arm was draped over Cassandra’s waist, and her face was, dear Maker, pressed directly into Cassandra’s breast, which was softly rising and falling with her breathing. Despite the sudden and staggering pounding of Aveline’s own heartbeat, she could hear the Seeker’s slow heartbeat in her ear, serene and steady.

Aveline had never felt such complete panic in her life. Her thoughts raced. How could she extricate herself from the Seeker’s arms without waking her? Slowly, so slowly, Aveline lifted her arm off Cassandra’s waist, feeling the cool air rush in where their bodies had been warmly pressed together. Cassandra stirred, muttering indistinctly, and Aveline froze. Cassandra shifted slightly, turned her head and tucking her face against Aveline’s forehead. Aveline could feel the Seeker’s breath on her scalp. A number of curses passed through her mind, words she would never utter out loud, as panic washed through her.

She lay, at a loss, unmoving, for several minutes. Although she did not entirely relax, she did calm down somewhat… enough to, perhaps, appreciate, a little, Cassandra’s strength and solidness, even in sleep, even though many layers of cloth and leather were between their bodies. Aveline closed her eyes, and, feeling guilty but unable to help herself, imagined what it might be like to curl her body into Cassandra’s even more closely, tip her head up to where Cassandra’s lips brushed Aveline’s forehead, wake her with a kiss….

A sudden noise outside the doorway startled Aveline abruptly out of her shameful thoughts. Cassandra came swiftly awake as well, her muscles stiffening, though she did not move. Aveline tilted her head to look at Cassandra, their faces inches apart, as she heard a key turning in the lock.

The door was pushed open. Aveline flipped herself away from Cassandra, turning to face the doorway, where Sylvain stood. Sylvain’s eyebrows rose as he took in the sight before him.

“Huh,” he said, as though mildly surprised. Then he seemed to collect himself. “Well, then. The Knight-Captain remains interested in securing your cooperation, and asked that you be fed so that you would be in decent shape for… some conversations, to happen later.” He stepped to one side, and an elven serving-woman carrying a tray entered and a pitcher. She set both on the table and hastily left without so much as glancing at Cassandra and Aveline. 

Aveline had scrambled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Cassandra propped herself up on her elbows, giving Sylvain a cautious look. “What kind of ‘conversations’?” she asked.

Sylvain ignored her, following the servant out the door. They heard the lock clicking into place.

Cassandra swung her legs out of bed and pulled on her boots. “I don’t suppose I actually needed an answer to that,” she said drily. She strode to the table and picked up the tray, bringing it back to the bed, where she sat, setting the tray between them. “It is unlikely that they would waste poison on prisoners, so I expect the food is safe. We ought to eat; I think we will need our strength, for later.” She tore a large roll of bread in two, proffering one half to Aveline.

Aveline took it, jolting a little as their fingers brushed. “I — I am sorry. I don’t know how I ended up so close — that is, while we were sleeping — ”

Cassandra coloured slightly, but also gave Aveline an amused glance. “Do not trouble yourself over it; it was unconsciously done, moving close for warmth in a cold room. Besides, it will give Sylvain the impression that we are, indeed, lovers, to have found us in such a compromising position.”

Aveline could feel herself flushing, and she focused very intently on tearing off and eating pieces of the bread. There was also a small wedge of cheese, which Cassandra broke in half for them to share, and a single very bruised apple, which Cassandra ate — Aveline found she did not have much of an appetite, despite not having eaten for the better part of an entire day. She very deliberately did not watch Cassandra’s mouth as she ate the apple.

When the food was gone, Cassandra stood and helped herself to the contents of the pitcher, which she then handed to Aveline. It contained clean water, which Aveline finished.

Cassandra was once again testing the table, pushing on it and bending down to examine its legs. She finally picked the table up entirely and turned it upside-down, putting her booted foot on the underside of its top. She grasped one of its legs and cleanly snapped it off with a resounding crack.

Aveline must have jumped at the noise. Cassandra smiled, her expression fierce. “Whatever kind of ‘conversation’ they intend to have with us, I do not think I want to stay around for.” She gave the table leg a few experimental swings, as though it were a cudgel. It whistled in the air. She tossed the table leg to Aveline, who managed to catch it with minimal fumbling. Cassandra then bent over the table once more and snapped off its remaining two legs. 

“What about keeping up the pretence?” Aveline asked, bemused. She ran her hands over the table leg. It was decently heavy, especially at the end that had been attached to the tabletop.

“Upon reflection, I am unconvinced that it will ultimately be productive,” Cassandra replied, picking up the tabletop and carrying it to the bed. “Sylvain does not trust us, and Sammond will only keep us alive as long as it suits him — he is toying with us, or perhaps simply biding his time in case we turn out to be more useful as hostages than as corpses.” She began removing her belt, startling Aveline. “I will need your belt too, please,” Cassandra said.

Using both belts, Cassandra lashed the tabletop to her arm — a makeshift shield. “It’s not much, but it will do,” she said grimly.

“We’re going to fight?” Aveline asked. She was still reeling from everything, still feeling tired and confused from her sleepless night.

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “So far, we have seen only Sylvain, Sammond, and a servant here — I do not think they have any proper guards, and we have given them no reason to bring them in. I am reasonably certain that we can overpower anyone who comes to collect us, at least enough to run back to the meeting room, and from there to the streets.”

“Well,” Aveline said, sighing, “I suppose we have nothing to lose by trying.” She put on her own boots, and her cloak. 

They armed themselves with their improvised weapons. Cassandra had her tabletop-shield and one table leg to use as a weapon. Aveline would take the other two table legs, and wield them as best she could. She sat, nervous, on the wooden chair, against the far wall. Cassandra half-sat, half-lay on the bed. No noise came from the hallway.

Aveline’s thoughts tumbled around in her head. She found herself looking at Cassandra more often than not, and… now that she was fully awake, she realized, to her dismay, that her attraction had not left her. Maker, she was as smitten as a schoolgirl! But no — they were still in a very fraught situation. Still in grave danger. Her infatuation would certainly pass if… _when_ they made it to safety. 

And they _would_ make it to safety. Aveline had to keep telling herself that. They would take their captors by surprise, and run back through the hallways to the meeting room and the passage to the alley. Aveline would fight with her two makeshift cudgels, and would clear the way for Cassandra to attack with her shield. When they finally reached the street, when they escaped to safety, their relief would be so great… Cassandra would turn to Aveline in joy and congratulations, and they would step close to one another, looking into each others’ eyes, and — 

Aveline was startled out of her reverie by the sound of footsteps in the hall. All thoughts left her mind at once, as she made eye contact with Cassandra, and they both silently stood and moved into combat positions. Aveline transferred her cudgels to one hand and scooped up the empty pitcher with the other, then waited, watching the door.

“Ladies?” came Sammond’s voice. “I hope you have been treated well, and are rested. We have — ”

He got no further, because as soon as his head was clearly visible through the opening door. Aveline threw the pitcher at it with all her strength. Then Cassandra rushed forward and slammed into him with her shield, knocking him into the hallway beyond. Aveline surged forward, cudgels in hand, following Cassandra into the hallway and immediately charging at Sylvain with a ferocity born of desperation. Another man, whether servant or guard, stumbled and shied away from the fight. Aveline attacked Sylvain, who was attempting to unsheathe his sword, knocking him to the floor, stunned. She spun, raising her weapons and looking for more enemies.

“Run!” Cassandra shouted, sprinting past her, in the direction they had come from last night. With a last kick at Sylvain, Aveline followed.

She could hear yelling behind them, then the sounds of pursuit — still far off, but not far enough. They came to the stairs, fairly flying down them, spilling into the meeting room. Hearing their pursuers on the stairs above them, they ran to the door that would lead to the alley passageway. It was locked. Aveline pounded on it in terrified frustration.

Cassandra pushed her back, the remains of the tabletop still lashed to her arm. “Allow me,” she said. Then, in one of the most impressive feats of physical strength Aveline had ever witnessed, the Seeker _kicked the door down_ with a single shattering blow. 

Aveline stared at her with frank admiration. “That was incredible,” she said.

“Yeah, she’s a real force of nature,” came a familiar voice from the other side of the smashed door.

“Varric? How…?”

The dwarf, armed with his crossbow, stepped over the debris and into the meeting room. “You disappeared from the Hanged Man. Luckily I can read Cassandra’s terrible handwriting, so I had an idea of where to look for you.” He glanced behind them and raised his crossbow. “I really need to find better friends,” he muttered, taking aim at the the half-dozen armed people who had poured out of the stairway.

Aveline spun, raising her cudgels, to face their opponents. Varric managed to kill one with a well-aimed bolt, before another armed fighter approached from the alley and held a knife to Varric’s throat — the woman who had let Cassandra and Aveline in the night before. “Drop your weapons,” she growled, even as her companions — there were at least five of them — came in from the passageway and similarly threatened Cassandra and Aveline. Aveline let her cudgels drop. Cassandra, scowling, did the same, and Varric lay down his crossbow and raised his hands.

“I had hope we could come to an understanding without resorting to violence,” Sammond said, walking into the meeting room. He was limping and clearly in pain, his face bruised and bloodied. Sylvain was a step behind, looking almost as bad, glaring furiously at the trio. “We are, ultimately, on the same side,” Sammond went on. “The side of law, and order. It’s a pity you couldn’t see that — I had hoped… but no. It no longer matters. Kirkwall will once again thrive under the Templars, have no doubt. But it will do so without you,” he said, gesturing to the fighters who had them surrounded.

What happened immediately next was mostly unmixed chaos, as far as Aveline would later remember. The fighters rushed herself, Cassandra, and Varric, who all defended themselves as best they could, despite being unarmed and outnumbered. They all took wounds; Aveline herself sustained multiple deep slashes on her arms, and would not likely have lasted much longer against their assailants.

Then, suddenly, the tide turned, and the passageway, then the meeting room, was overrun with the City Guard. In short order, the conspirator fighters were dead or disarmed and being taken into custody. As soon as she had her wits about her, Aveline looked around. “Cassandra?” she shouted.

“I am unhurt,” the Seeker replied, stepping toward Aveline. “Relatively speaking. Are you all right?” 

Relieved beyond speaking, Aveline reached forward with both hands, clasping Cassandra’s arms. _Thank the Maker,_ Aveline thought, looking into the Seeker’s face, reassuring herself that the other woman was alive and not grievously wounded from the melee.

“Where did the City Guard some from?” asked Varric, bleeding from a gash above one eye.

“We were alerted that there would be trouble,” said a voice. Aveline turned to see Lieutenant Melindra approaching from the alley. “And that you were caught up in it, Captain.” She gave Aveline a salute. “I hope I haven’t overstepped, Captain. But no one could find you, and when Guardswoman Viola came to me with her story, I decided to muster the Guard.” She glanced over to where Viola was approaching Sylvain, who was sitting on the floor with the rest of the disarmed conspirators.

Aveline nodded, dazed. “Well done,” she said. She walked to where Viola now stood, looking down at Sylvain.

Sylvain was looking at Viola with unveiled hatred. “You _traitor_ ,” he spat. “Our parents would _weep_ to see you undermine the Templars in Kirkwall.”

Viola looked troubled. “I’m sorry, brother,” she said. “But… you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. What good the City Guard can do, when there are checks and balances in the city’s rule. Someday… I hope you will forgive me.”

With a cry of inarticulate rage, Sylvain leapt up at Viola, who flinched….

And he was knocked down again as Aveline backhanded him. Groaning, he curled onto his side, and did not rise again.

Aveline turned to Viola. “Guardswoman Viola,” she said, her voice taking on a note of authority. “I’m afraid you will have to be suspended while the activities of recent weeks are investigated.” Viola hung her head, but did not argue, while Lieutenant Melindra directed the other guards to escort Viola, as well as the conspirators, to the gaol.

“It seems that Knight-Captain Sammond has eluded capture,” Cassandra said, walking up to Aveline.

“Hmph,” Aveline grunted. “That is unfortunate. Still, thanks to you,” she said to Cassandra, “we have unearthed a conspiracy, and caught most of the players.”

“Well,” Cassandra said. “You yourself were quite impressive, especially armed with only table legs.” She cocked her head as she gazed at Aveline. “Has anyone ever told you that you look very much like….”

“Like who, Seeker?” Varric asked, sidling up to them.

Cassandra flushed. “Never mind,” she said irritably, stalking off.

Aveline looked at Varric inquisitively. “I think she really likes you, Aveline,” he said, a teasing note in his voice. Which, of course, caused Aveline to flush all the way to the roots of her hair. Varric raise his eyebrows. “Huh. Well, how about that,” he said, mysteriously, and chuckled to himself. “I’ll say this much about the Seeker — she always, _always_ gives me excellent material for my novels.”

It took some time to make arrangements for the prisoners to be processed. Bran was, predictably, not happy about having to deal with the whole issue. Varric, with a bit of healing potion in him, was more than able to step up and ensure that the proper procedures were followed. Aveline gave instructions to Lieutenant Melindra regarding Viola — to be kept in custody in the barracks, not the gaol, until Aveline’s investigation could be completed.

Sammond had indeed disappeared. Aveline was not sure what to make of that. The City Guard would be on the alert for him, of course. But Cassandra indicated that she was somewhat unsure of whether the Chantry would enforce any real sanctions against him, given Divine Victoria’s penchant for strengthening Templar authority.

It was a day later, after several proper meals and a lengthy rest, that Aveline ventured back to the Hanged Man at midday. She was glad to see Varric sitting at his usual table, and pleased that Hawke and Merrill were there too. If her heart gave a twist, disappointed at Cassandra’s absence, she pushed down that sentiment.

Hawke and Merrill were especially delighted to see her, and hear all about her adventure with Cassandra. It was very pleasant to have such an enthusiastic audience, after a day of reports and meetings with the officers. Aveline found herself describing Cassandra’s actions, her bravery and strength, and the twist in her heart pulled a little tighter.

The story had, naturally, been circulating throughout the city. “Apparently, Viola’s and Sylvain’s parents died in the chantry explosion,” Hawke told her. “Sylvain wanted nothing more than to restore a Templar authoritarian rule, and Sammond was able to exploit that to rally a sizeable gang of civilians to his cause.”

“Right,” said Varric. “That’s who was orchestrating all the low-level crimes, all the forgeries and counterfeits and such. All of it to undermine the City Guard and the civilian governance, to convince the nobility that a return to Templar rule was a great idea.” He shook his head. “And of course, the rest of the Templars claim they had no idea Sammond was doing any of this. Who knows how many of them were in on it.”

The conversation went on, through several pitchers of ale and a platter of food to be shared. Aveline enjoyed herself — truly, it was good to be among friends, and she was feeling fairly pleased with the outcome of the whole adventure. It sounded as though the nobility were aiming to vote Varric in as Viscount, which would be a good thing for the Guards, so even if nothing else came out of the whole debacle that was a positive gain.

Merrill and Hawke left once the food was gone, walking arm-in-arm out the door, on their way back to the Hawke estate. Aveline watched them go, a little wistful. She was certainly not jealous of either Hawke or Merrill, but… there was no denying, she was, possibly, the tiniest bit envious of their romance, their closeness. Which was a decidedly odd thought for Aveline, who had been devoted to her job and her duty, to the exclusion of everything else, for so long.

“I’m glad they’re back,” Aveline remarked to Varric.

“Yeah, it’s always nice to see Waffles and Daisy,” he replied. “I think they like it too — taking a break from their research mission, relaxing a bit, reconnecting with old friends, and with each other.”

“With each other?” Aveline asked. “But… aren’t they always together? Even when they’re traveling and researching?”

“I think it’s different when you can get away from… whatever it is your life’s work is,” Varric mused. “It’s really good for a person — or a couple, I guess — to get outside of your day-to-day tasks, even if just for a little bit. It’s why I keep writing novels, even though running my business is my work. You know?”

Aveline blinked. “I suppose so. Though… I don’t have anything like that, myself. Being Guard-Captain is all I ever do.”

“Hmmm,” Varric said, eyeing her appraisingly. “I have to say, after your little adventure with the Seeker, you’re a lot more… well, _alive_. The way you get excited when you talk about it, the way your eyes light up. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not as though I can go off and embroil myself in a dangerous conspiracy every so often, just for fun,” Aveline said.

“Probably not a great plan,” Varric agreed. “Maybe you could find a less risky hobby.”

“Like what?”

“Well, didn’t you used to make copper reliefs, little scenes and flowers and things?”

Aveline’s lip curled. “I stopped doing that after… never mind. I don’t think I’d want to take up that hobby again. Besides, I was never very good at making finicky, pretty things.”

“So no embroidery, painting, or whittling.” Varric stroked his chin. “At the risk of sounding self-serving… what about reading?”

“What, like your ludicrous novels?” Aveline asked, laughing. “About… swashbuckling, and bodice-ripping, and… and — ”

“And dashing warriors? Valiant captains? Passionate romance?”

Aveline smirked. “I suppose so. I don’t think that sort of thing is for me, though.”

“Fair enough,” Varric said. “But, you know… Cassandra’s a fan.”

Aveline tilted her head. “She mentioned your books, actually. I didn’t know she _liked_ them, though.”

“Believe me, I was as surprised as anyone else! It’s still kind of shocking to me, someone like Cassandra, having a soft romantic side.”

“Well… not that shocking, surely?” Aveline said, uncertainly. “She’s… passionate. Devoted. And she’s intelligent and discerning, I mean, I can really imagine her enjoying stories about intrigue, or relationships, or… what?” she asked, noticing that Varric had fixed her with an odd look.

He paused. “Aveline. Do you know how my book, _The Trouble with Templars_ , ends?”

“Cassandra told me,” Aveline said. “It gave her the idea that got us out of the worst of the trouble when we got to the Templars’ allies’ secret meeting. And she said that it worked — the ruse of pretending to be lovers bought them enough time to escape. Just like it did for us.”

“Aveline.” Varric was still looking at her oddly. “The way the book ends — the two heroines fall in love. For real. It’s an adventure story, but… it’s really more of a love story, in the end.”

Aveline blinked. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Didn’t you?” Varric said, then glanced behind her. Aveline turned and looked over her shoulder, to see Cassandra standing just inside the tavern’s door, looking around. Aveline heard Varric pushing away from the table, saying, “Think I’ll leave you two romantics alone,” he said.

Aveline didn’t answer. She watched as Cassandra spotted her, then began to walk toward the table. The Seeker halted a few steps away, seeming to hesitate.

Aveline found herself rising to her feet almost automatically. She smiled — she couldn’t help herself — she was happier to see Cassandra than she could remember ever being about seeing _anyone_. “Cassandra!” she said. “It’s good to — that is — hello!” She felt herself flushing, but Cassandra was smiling back.

“Aveline,” she said by way of greeting, taking the seat opposite.

Aveline sat back down. “I am _so_ glad to see you again,” she said. 

“Oh?” Cassandra asked, amusement in her tone. “You were worried you would not see me?”

“I thought perhaps you might leave Kirkwall, after everything that… I mean, that you would go back to the Hunterhorns before I got the chance to….”

Cassandra was shaking her head. “I will remain here for at least a little while,” she said. “The other Seekers will arrive soon, and I will work with them to address the discord that arose in the Templars here. We may not have backing directly from the Chantry, but… we can still work to protect all branches of the Chantry’s authority from corruption.”

“So… you’ll be staying in Kirkwall… for some time?” Aveline asked, hopeful.

“Yes, I shall.”

“Well. That’s… I’m glad.” Aveline felt extraordinarily happy… and a little foolish for being so happy… but mostly just happy. She smiled at Cassandra. “And you’re staying at Varric’s estate?”

“Yes, although I do not know how long I will be able to tolerate his teasing,” Cassandra said peevishly. 

“Oh?” Aveline asked sympathetically.

They sat for many hours, talking easily. It was one of the most pleasant evenings of Aveline’s life. If she had found Cassandra intelligent and engaging while they were on stakeout, she found her absolutely _scintillating_ while relaxing over pints of ale in the tavern. Her company was exhilarating, thrilling, to Aveline; but also so completely comfortable and easy that it was as though they had been fast friends for many years. Cassandra, it seemed, had a great many stories to tell, a great many passions to share. Aveline listened, rapt, to every word.

The evening grew late, and by unspoken mutual accord they rose to leave. Aveline walked Cassandra to the edge of Hightown, not because Cassandra needed the protection, but because the conversation was so enjoyable that neither of them seemed to want it to end.

They came to the crossroads where they would part ways. Aveline turned to Cassandra; they had been walking close together, and Aveline’s breath caught at the closeness of Cassandra’s face. She was, Aveline thought, absolutely strikingly beautiful. Aveline suddenly wanted to kiss her, wanted it so ferociously that she had to hold herself back. The last thing she wanted to was risk losing Cassandra’s company, risk losing her esteem, as she had lost Donnic’s all those years ago.

But then Cassandra rose fractionally up and tilted her head, and her hands came to rest on Aveline’s hips, and suddenly, _oh_ , they were kissing. Aveline’s heart thudded almost painfully; she was flying, she was falling, it was all too much. Her hands went around Cassandra’s strong shoulders and pulled her close. Her lips were so warm, so soft, and this was by _far_ the best thing that had ever, ever happened.

When the kiss ended, Cassandra pulled back enough that Aveline could see her face, flushed and happy. Aveline could feel her own features arranged into a silly, helpless smile. 

“Well,” Cassandra said, a little breathlessly. 

“Yes,” Aveline agreed.

“I… I hope that I will… perhaps see you again…?”

“You… you do?”

“Oh, yes. That is, if you also…?”

“Yes! Yes. Please. I… may I come get you, tomorrow evening? From Varric’s estate? I would like… I would very much like to take you somewhere perhaps a little nicer than the Hanged Man.”

Cassandra smiled. “I do not mind the Hanged Man,” she said, “but that does sound lovely.”

“Wonderful! Then… until tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

Slowly, they stepped away from one another and walked off, Cassandra toward Hightown, Aveline toward the barracks. Aveline felt like bursting into song, or skipping down the street. She could hardly believe this was happening. And because she was not in the Guard rotation for another several days, she would have time to really prepare a proper courtship… she was going to do this _right_. Flowers… poetry… gifts… she would sweep Cassandra off her feet, make sure Cassandra knew how wonderful Aveline thought she was.

It was almost too good to be real… like a story. Like one of Varric’s stories. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea after all, to take up reading. Especially if Cassandra enjoyed reading…. Though Aveline could not quite imagine reading some of Varric’s more scandalous stories. Still, it would probably be very pleasant to lose herself in stories, to allow herself to believe in happy endings. Although Aveline could not imagine any ending as happy as she felt just then.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is already pretty lengthy, and needed to be submitted on time, but... I sort of want to write more for these two. My headcanon for how the rest of this plays out:  
> \- they date until the Seekers turn up, and it's awkward and adorable  
> \- they write letters to each other after Cassandra leaves Kirkwall, and because they are both kind of clumsy with expressing themselves but they both feel really deeply, the letters are also awkward and adorable  
> \- they reunite at some point in the future, and...?


End file.
